Victory
by Jacynthe Demorae
Summary: Tidus isn't one for praying, but he knows the worth of a team ritual. Set in the Killika Temple.


Disclaimer: the characters and concepts of _Final Fantasy X_ belong to Square Enix and Nomura Tetsuya, and any other number of legal/corporate entities that are not me. This is a fan-work, created for the entertainment of myself and other fans. No profit has been made, and no challenge to copyright is intended.

Victory  
by Jacynthe Demorae

Tidus stalked into the Killika Temple, still seething from the confrontation with the Luca Goers. _'Goers'. What kind of name is that? It's not even a real word!_

He breathed in deep from his belly. His head swam for a brief moment from the rush of oxygen and his blood roared in his ears. _Save it for the sphere,_ he reminded himself. He'd learned long ago to channel his emotions into physical activity. Better a burst of violence than a burst of tears.

_Sounds like something my old man would go for,_ he thought in disgust. He didn't know which was worse: becoming the neo-thug he father deemed 'manly', or withering under the scornful epithet of 'crybaby'.

_"But Sir Jecht was a kind and gentle man!"_

Yuna's protest rang in his ears. He gritted his teeth and shook himself a little from head to toe, a pre-game centering ritual for calm. No point in telling Yuna about the old man. Just like in Zanarkand, Jecht was an untarnished hero here. No surprise. A sportsman was also a showman, and the old man knew how to charm. He could even keep it up for a while--until his next binge.

He looked around. This temple didn't look very different from the one in Besaid, not on the inside. A roughly circular main room--he had no idea what it was called--some stairs leading to what was probably the Cloister of Trials and the Chamber of the Fayth. Statues ringed the main room, the past High Summoners, or so the old priest at Besaid had said. Tidus had tuned out most of the man's lecture after about the fourth word.

Tidus began a slow circuit of the room, pausing before each statue. He couldn't imagine any of these carvings being modeled on real people. The poses looked unnatural, stiff, as if the sculptor had done the work from a hazy memory. Zanarkand had weird statues, too, like the ones at the main entrance of the blitzball stadium, but they weren't supposed to represent real people. These looked... creepy.

He shivered, looking up at one graven face. A woman, Lady... Yucca? Something like that. For some reason, she wore a helmet that seemed to have a faceplate that came down past her nose. She was the only High Summoner figure to brandish a sword in place of a staff. Tidus decided he wouldn't have wanted to face this one in the sphere--or anywhere else. She looked like she'd been tougher than granite while still flesh-and-blood.

_Kinda like Auron,_ he thought, then shook his head. He didn't want to think about Auron. Auron had literally dragged him into this insanity and then _left_ him. Scowling, he turned on his heel and went to look for the others.

He found them clustered near one of the other statues. To his surprise, it wasn't the one of Yuna's father, as he'd expected. He snuck a glance over his shoulder. These High Summoners all seemed to like weird-looking clothes. No two statues displayed the same style. Yuna herself wore an outfit that didn't look like anything he'd seen in Besaid, or like what her father's statue showed. Truth be told, he looked like he was wearing an upside-down artichoke.

_"Sir Jecht was my father's Guardian."_

He tried to picture the old man fighting for something besides his own ego. The images just wouldn't form. And yet...

_"A gift," Auron said, handing him the red sword, "from Jecht."_

Where had the old man gotten a sword? He could sort of understand how Jecht could come to own such a weapon if he, too, had been pushed a thousand years into the future. That didn't explain how it ended up in Auron's possession, a thousand years in the _past_ from right now. Just thinking about it made his head hurt.

Unconsciously, his hand dropped to the hilt of the sword Wakka had given him. _Brotherhood._ He'd never had a brother, bloodkin or otherwise. What did it mean, to carry a sword like that, in a place like this? What did it mean, that he had the face of a dead man?

A muted gasp caught his attention. A sun-browned boy stared at him with round eyes. Tidus hastily let go of the hilt. Grabbing weapons was probably not something you did in a temple. Not that he knew. Zanarkand didn't have anything like a temple. He couldn't say he'd ever felt the lack.

He stepped closer to the group of Guardians. Lulu glanced at him as he approached. Wakka had called her a 'black mage,' whatever that meant. One more thing he was supposed to already know. He assumed there were 'white mages', or maybe even green or purple mages. Like Al Bhed and Rhonso, it was just one more thing central to this world that didn't exist in his own.

"I think Wakka needs to spend a little more time praying," Lulu said, turning her attention back to her fellow Guardian.

Tidus eyed the black mage askance. She sounded almost... amused. Yet five minutes ago, she'd delivered withering put-downs to Wakka, himself, and even Yuna. He couldn't tell how the words had affected Yuna, but he'd seen the hurt in Wakka's face. It pissed him off. So _what_ if he looked like this Chappu guy? Was that _his_ fault? He didn't even know the guy, or whatever it was that had gone on between him, Wakka, and Lulu, and he wasn't trying to take anyone's place.

_"No-one can replace Sir Jecht, or Lord Braska, either."_

Well, he didn't know anything about Yuna's father, but he knew for damn sure he wasn't any kind of replacement for his old man. His mother had made _that_ clear. He hadn't been enough to hold her attention when the old man was alive, he'd had no hope once he was dead. Anyway, he didn't _want_ to be a replacement for his old man--there were enough thick-headed jerks in the world. In _both_ worlds, if the Goers were any measure.

_"Because he's Sir Jecht's son."_

Damn, he was tired of that! Even now, sucked up by some freaky monster and spat out a thousand years into the future, he was still 'Jecht's son'. He'd worked his tail off to get a place on the Abes--not because they were his father's old team, but because they were the best and he'd _earned_ that spot. He'd poured hours into practice, played every position from forward to defense, to goalie to bench-warmer, just so he could figure out how to connect with the player in it. Didn't matter. All people wanted was a copy of his father, to talk about how much of _Jecht's_ talent he'd inherited, as if he had none of his own.

Now here in Spira, it seemed he was only wanted because he looked like a dead guy and was the son of another dead guy. What did it _matter_ who his father was--who _Yuna's_ father was, who Wakka's brother was? Lulu was right about no-one being able to replace them, but that didn't mean he, Yuna, and Wakka didn't have places of their own, places they'd made. The Al Bhed might've been weird and pushy, but once he'd shown he could work, they'd let him be.

Wakka made the sweeping motions of the 'prayer' again. "Lord Ohllander, guide our feet!"

_"You 'gonna do your best' again?"_ the Goer sneered in his memory. _"Too bad your best isn't very good."_

_"Told ya, kid. You can't do it. I'm the best."_

Tidus looked up into the statue's face. This Ohllander had been a High Summoner--but he'd been a blitzer, too. A good blitzer worked _with_ his team. A Summoner and Guardians... they made up a team, too, right? Yuna had asked him if he thought she could become High Summoner. He still didn't know what that meant, but it was important to her. Aside from Rikku, whom he'd probably never see again, these were the only people he knew in all of Spira.

Yuna wanted to become High Summoner. Wakka wanted to avenge his brother. Kimhari wanted to protect Yuna. Lulu... probably wanted to chuck lightning at the entire world. This was his team. These were their goals, and they all centered on defeating Sin.

He dropped into a crouch beside Wakka and raised his arms, crossed his wrists. He rather liked the victory salute. It felt a lot like an underwater stroke, something that pushed you forward. Forward to victory, with grace and skill. He brought his arms down in a controlled swoop.

His last sight of Zanarkand had been of flames and collapsing towers. Even if he could find some way to get back, there might not be a home for him to go back to. This might be all he could ever have again. If he couldn't go home, he could still help his 'team'. He could help them defeat Sin, and strike back for all the people who'd died in Zanarkand that night.

He brought his arms up again.

_"What's our goal?"_

_"Victory!"_

-finis-


End file.
